All of the sudden he was out of the tunnel. He was immediately met by several figures wearing dark coveralls like his. Aziz did not want to have to use the weapon unless he had to. They were trying to talk to him as he continued forward, but they were not pointing their weapons at him.
When Aziz was within several feet, he yelled through his gas mask, “Ambulance! I have to get her to an ambulance!”
One of the men grabbed him by the arm and started to jog with him up the ramp. As they stepped out from under the covered part of the Treasury garage, they were hit with the rain. The man kept trying to talk to Aziz.
Finally, Aziz yelled, “I’m deaf from the explosions! I can’t hear a thing!”
When they reached the top of the ramp, a stream of fire trucks raced past them and onto the south grounds of the White House. Aziz turned to the left and started jogging. Dead ahead on the other side of Fifteenth Street was where Salim was supposed to be. Emergency vehicles were lined up, their lights flashing in the pouring rain. Every second counted. Aziz pressed on. He desperately wanted to take the gas mask off, but it was too big a risk to show his face.
When they reached the intersection of Fifteenth Street and Hamilton, just a half a block away from the White House, another explosion occurred. The circular lid on the concrete trash receptacle across the street shot up in the air almost fifty feet and then came spinning back to earth. It landed with a thud in the middle of the intersection and lay smoldering in the rain.
The few people that were out in the deluge were now running for cover. Aziz continued through the rain. The man that had been with him stayed behind, fearing more explosions, which Aziz assumed, if Salim had done his job, were occurring all around the area.
Aziz made it across the street and ran down the sidewalk. He couldn’t take the mask any longer. It was too hard to breathe, and it was fogging up. He yanked the mask up onto his forehead and took his first real breath of air in minutes. It felt incredible in his burning lungs. Aziz pressed on, looking in the windows of the ambulances for a white head of hair. As he neared the end of the row of vehicles, he began to worry that Salim had abandoned him, but there, in the last ambulance, he spotted him.
Aziz ran around the back and pulled open the doors. He quickly climbed in and dropped the woman on the gurney. Before the door was shut, he yelled, “Get us the hell out of here!”
Salim threw the vehicle into reverse and hit the emergency lights on the roof. He spun the wheel and yanked it into drive, stepping on the gas. The wheels spun for a moment on the rain-soaked street and then caught. Salim hit the siren as the ambulance raced forward. The police at the next intersection hustled to move the barricades just in time for the ambulance to pass through.
VICE PRESIDENT BAXTER had just finished bawling out Dallas King. Less than thirty minutes earlier, Baxter had been blindsided by the information that President Hayes was no longer out of the loop and that he himself was no longer in charge. After being humiliated like never before in his life, Baxter had gotten off the phone and started screaming at Dallas King. The vice president went into a tirade, blaming his chief of staff for the entire mess, belaboring the point that he should never have listened to a word of King’s advice.
King had taken the verbal beating without a fight. Secretly he was relieved. Baxter not becoming president wouldn’t end his career, but Abu Hasan making it out of the White House and telling his story to the FBI or media would. With Hayes back in charge, the odds were a raid would be ordered.
King let his boss vent until there was nothing left and then turned the tables. Methodically, he made his case, pointing out that they had saved the lives of twenty-five people and had sacrificed what? Some money that wasn’t even theirs and some sanctions that weren’t even working. King stressed to Baxter that there was no way they could have played it any better. And then in an attempt to help bolster his boss’s ego, King proclaimed that history would judge his three days as president as some of the most difficult ever served by the nation’s chief executive. That history would remember him as someone who put the lives of Americans above money and a failed foreign policy.
“Remember, it ain’t over till it’s over.” King was building strength in his position. With each passing minute, he could see that he was getting to Baxter. King paced back and forth in front of the desk, and then suddenly stopped. “This is perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
“What is?”
“Hayes may have just done you the biggest favor of his career.” King clapped his hands together. “You’re off the hook, and the timing couldn’t be better. So far you’ve only had to deal with the little demands. Tomorrow, Aziz is going to ask for something big, and you are not going to have to be the one to say yes or no.” King was grinning ear to ear. “They are going to have to storm the White House, and Hayes is going to have to give the order.”
The vice president began to see the bright side. “There just might be a way out of this.”
The door to the study suddenly burst open, and one of the vice president’s staffers rushed in yelling, “Turn on the TV! The White House is on fire!”
Baxter sprang from his chair and grabbed the remote control from his desk. The TV came on almost instantly. Within seconds, images of fire engines racing through the White House’s gates appeared. In the background flames could be seen shooting out of windows. Baxter turned up the volume. The anchor was saying that people on the scene were telling him that as of yet no survivors had been seen coming out of the building.
As soon as the anchor said the words “no survivors,” Dallas King ushered the aide back out of the room and closed the door. The two of them stood for several minutes, watching the live coverage. There were flames everywhere. Firemen were manning hoses from the ground and from the top of hook-and-ladder trucks.
King turned to his boss, unable to hide the smile on his face. “No one is going to make it out of there alive.”
All Baxter could do was shake his head.
King stared at the TV for a while longer and then said, “We need to let the media know that you are not responsible for this disaster.” King pointed to the screen. “Hayes is responsible for this mess, and we have to make sure everyone knows that.” King felt as if he were floating on air. He was going to get away with it.
Baxter looked at his chief of staff and said, “Dallas, this is a tragedy.”
“Life is a tragedy, Sherman. Thirty thousand people a year die in car accidents, another hundred thousand from cigarettes.” King pointed to his boss. “Now, that’s a real tragedy. This is not good. Don’t get me wrong. Some people might consider it a tragedy, but it’s my job to make sure they don’t think you caused it.” King picked up the phone on his boss’s desk and punched in a phone number. When he got the person’s voice mail, he pressed zero and got the operator on the line. “I need to speak to Sheila Dunn immediately! Tell her Dallas King, the vice president’s chief of staff, is on the line.”
King was put on hold. Standing next to his boss, he watched the White House burn on the TV. In the back of his mind, he was chanting, Burn, baby, burn.
54
PRESIDENT HAYES STOOD in front of the White House, bathed in the early morning sunlight. Reporters shouted questions from beyond the fence line, and he ignored them. The important thing was that the nation see he was alive and well. He would make a formal speech in the evening and explain the tragic events of the last four days.
Special Agent Jack Warch stood at his side along with a half dozen other Secret Service agents, all of them wearing sunglasses. President Hayes held his hand over his eyes and gazed up at the proud, old building, amazed she was still standing. FBI agents were sifting through the carnage collecting evidence. Virtually all of the windows were blown out, and there were holes punched in the stone exterior where the bombs had exploded. Fortunately the fire had not burned uncontrolled. Between the heavy downpour and the firefighters, the blaze had been kept in check and was prevented from engulfing the structur
e. Priceless national treasures had been damaged beyond repair and lost forever, but the important thing was that the hostages were alive.
Jack Warch reached out and tapped the president on the arm. President Hayes looked down at his watch and nodded. The troop then moved out across the lawn for the northwest gate.
The president looked to Warch and said, “I bet your wife and kids were happy to see you this morning.”
Warch smiled. “Yep. Lots of hugs and kisses.”
Hayes grinned and slapped Warch on the back as they crossed Pennsylvania Avenue. Several large limousines were parked in the street. One of them, Hayes recognized, belonged to the vice president. The entourage walked up the steps of Blair House, where a U.S. marine opened the door for the president and saluted. Hayes returned the salute and entered the foyer of his new home. Several reporters from the White House press pool were inside with their notepads ready.
The president paused to take a look around and pronounced, “If it was good enough for Harry Truman, it’s good enough for me.” The reporters laughed and wrote down the quote.
The president’s chief of staff appeared from the parlor and said, “Everybody’s here, Mr. President.”
Hayes tugged on his white shirtsleeves and entered the room with Warch and Jones. All of the attendees stood, some more enthusiastically than others. The president had called the meeting several hours earlier and had put together the list carefully. Stansfield, Kennedy, Flood, and Campbell were all seated on of one the room’s two large couches. Sitting across from them was Vice President Baxter and Dallas King. Despite the extra room on the couch, Anna Rielly and Milt Adams had chosen to stand.
The president walked to the front of the room and looked at the only two people he didn’t know. “I’m looking forward to meeting both of you, but we have some business to take care of first.” Hayes looked around the room for a second and then to Director Stansfield. “We’re missing someone.”
“He’ll be along shortly, Mr. President.”
Hayes nodded and brought his hands together in a tight grip. “All right, let’s get down to business. First things first.” Hayes’s gaze fell on Dallas King.“We are going to set the record straight, and we’re going to make things right. Dallas, I’ve been told you made quite an ass out of yourself over the last several days.” Hayes paused. “Anything you would like to say in your defense?”
King shifted uncomfortably on the couch and was rapidly trying to think of a defense when the parlor doors opened and in stepped Mitch Rapp. Rapp walked across the room to where Rielly and Adams were standing.
“I’m sorry I’m late, Mr. President.”
“That’s quite all right, Mr. Kruse. We were just getting ready to hear Dallas King explain his behavior over the last several days.”
King was sweating bullets.
The president extended his hand and Valerie Jones deposited a copy of The Washington Post in it. Hayes held it up for everyone to see. The headlines read, “President Hayes Orders Failed Raid.” Hayes handed the copy back to Jones and said, “The Post rushed to press with this story last night and wound up with a lot of egg on their face this morning. I won’t even get into the specifics of the article, other than to say that almost all of it is false.” Hayes watched King for a moment. “Dallas, do you have any idea how the Post came up with a headline like this?”
At first King only shrugged and then muttered some unintelligible words. Inside, he was relieved. For a moment he had thought Hayes had found out about his late-night tour of the White House.
“Let me see if I can refresh your memory.” Hayes extended his hand, and this time Stansfield placed several documents in it. “I have phone records here showing that someone called the Post last night from the vice president’s house. I have other records showing that over the last several days someone has been calling a reporter at the Post from your mobile phone and your home phone.” Hayes held the phone records up for all to see.
King squirmed on the couch and looked to his boss for support. He got none. Afraid to look the president in the eye, he answered with great discomfort. “Ah . . . I made them.”
“I thought so.” Hayes handed the phone records back to Stansfield and turned to Jones. She handed him a folder and a pen. Hayes crossed over to King and dropped the pen and folder in his lap. “We took the liberty of typing your resignation for you. Sign both copies, and keep one for yourself.”
Hayes watched King sign the two sheets and took one of them back. “You may leave now.”
It was silent as the vice president’s chief of staff got up to leave. King was more relieved than any of the others in the room could know. He could handle a quiet resignation. The truth, however, would ruin him.
Hayes turned his attention next to Vice President Baxter. “How do you like foreign travel, Sherman?”
Baxter looked up at Hayes and said nothing.
Hayes went on. “I hope you like it a lot because for the next three years I’m going to send you to every third-world country I can think of.” The president turned and walked to the front of the room. It was obvious to all that he was trying to keep his temper in check. “You have set our foreign policy and national security back a decade. I would fire you if I could, but the harsh truth is that I can’t. So I’m stuck with you for the rest of the term, and then, Sherman, as everyone in this room is my witness, you will choose not to run.” Hayes’s cheeks were flushed. For good measure, he added, “Don’t press me on this, or I swear to God, I’ll have Director Stansfield start leaking your CIA file to the media. Now get out of here, and keep your mouth shut.” Hayes pointed to the door.
When the door was closed, Director Stansfield looked around and said, “Mr. President, I don’t have a file on the vice president.”
Hayes winked and said, “I know that, but he doesn’t.”
The president grabbed a glass of water and took a sip. Turning back to the group, he said, “I can’t thank all of you enough for the job you did. It was truly unbelievable. I’m going to start with you, Mr. Adams.” Hayes walked over and shook his hand. “I am indebted to you for what you did. The risks you took, when you clearly didn’t have to get involved, speak volumes about your character.”
Adams was uncomfortable with all of the praise. “I was just doing my duty, Mr. President.”
Hayes grabbed his shoulder and squeezed. “We need more people like you, Milt. If there is anything I can do for you, just let me know and I will take care of it.”
“There is one thing that I can think of, sir.”
“What’s that?”
“This retirement thing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, and I was thinking-that since your house is in dire need of repair, I could come back and help supervise the rebuilding.”
“Absolutely. That’s a great idea, Milt. I will have it taken care of immediately. Anything else?”
“Nope.”
“Well then, Valerie will walk you to the door and get all of the information. I can’t thank you enough.”
Adams finished shaking the president’s hand and turned to Rielly. Milt reached out and kissed her on the cheek. “Watch out for this guy here.” Adams let go and shook Rapp’s hand. “Well, Mr. Secret Agent Man, I suppose this is the last I’ll see of you.”
“You never know.” Rapp pulled Adams over and gave him a hug. “I’ll make it a point to stop by and see you.”
“Yeah, you do that. Just don’t come asking me to join you for any more crazy missions. I’m too old for this stuff.”
Adams started for the door and turned back. “You two make a cute couple. Maybe you should stop by some night, and I’ll make you dinner.”
“We’ll have to do that.” Rapp turned to Rielly and laughed.
After Adams left, the president focused his attention on Rielly. “Young lady, your first day at the White House turned out to be a doozy.”
“Yes, you could say that.”
“Are you going to stay on, or has this experience soure
d you?”
“Stay on?”
“At the White House.”
“Of course.”
“Good.” Hayes smiled. “I asked you here this morning for two reasons. The first was to thank you for all of your help. I’ve been told you played a crucial role in helping Mr. Kruse here pull this thing off.”
“A very small one.” Rielly blushed.
“Well, thank you. Your sacrifice is very much appreciated.” Hayes looked over at Rapp for a second and then back to Rielly. “Can you guess what the second reason is?”
Rielly folded her arms across her chest. “You wanted to talk to me about how much of my story I plan on telling.” She intentionally chose the word “my.”
“Precisely.” Hayes backed up a bit. “How many reporters do you think have witnessed an exchange between the president and the vice president like the one you just witnessed here this morning?”
“Probably none.”
“That’s right.” Hayes gestured to the four people sitting on the couch. “These four fine individuals think I should pressure you into signing a bunch of documents that will bind you legally from publishing anything we think a threat to certain security interests. But I have assured them that there is a better way to handle this.”
Hayes paused to give Rielly a moment to reflect on the first option. Walking back to the front of the room, he continued. “The other way, the better way, is for you and I to make a deal.” Hayes raised his eyebrows. “In exchange for your voluntary cooperation in regard to keeping certain aspects of the most recent events secret, I will give you a head start on certain events of importance.”